


Pushit

by Cal (CaliginousCandy)



Series: Prison Sex [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Cocaine, Dom/sub Undertones, Mentioned Verbal Abuse, Other, Sexual Abuse, Underage Driving, Vomiting, gasp! D:, illegal drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliginousCandy/pseuds/Cal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please mind the tags. It's bad enough writing this. Please. Look, I'm begging you, please. I'm on my goddamn knees here (well technically I'm on my ass but...)</p><p>Dave's life is shit and he knows it. He also knows that he has to keep it from everybody and that it will only get worse as he grows older.</p><p>He knows that soon he'll be a husk of a person.</p><p>(Title from Pushit by Tool)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Push It On Me

**Author's Note:**

> There's no rape in this chapter but there will be in the next one. I will be warning you about the rape scenes in the entire Prison Sex Series the chapter before and you will be able to skip them. Otherwise, it will just be referenced (and I apologize in advance if the mentions are way too detailed to be called mentions).
> 
> Now with playlist magic! http://8tracks.com/caliginouscandy/no-love-in-fear

Dave wasn't always such an angry or violent kid. It was a learned behavior. In all honesty, he did his best to resist but people tend to pick up on the habits of people they live with and were raised around.

His brother (his bro, rather) was so shitty at his job. The job which was to keep and make Dave feel and be safe. Safe? The fuck is that? He ain't never felt safe a moment of his miserable little shit life, the poor fucking kid. He doesn't remember his parents. In his words; Parents? What's that? Is it good with aj? Naw, he would say, my bro raised me in this shitty little apartment with the shittiest kinds of skills, the shittiest consideration for anything, in the shittiest city in the shittiest country in this shitty fuckin' world.

-

A little while after his bro’s parent’s left him all alone with Dave, everything was fine. He had a mildly successful business of a dubious nature and an apartment with decent plumbing to raise his kid brother. Stress doesn't settle in so easily when you’re young.

-

Dave had been enjoying his week of solitude at the apartment, freshly 8 years old and just discovering his interest in the corpses the cat that always hung out by the corner store brought back after he started giving it pieces of his sandwiches. Sandwiches that were dwindling but that he was willing to sacrifice for the chance to examine the bird and lizard chunks. Death was fascinating and he vowed to go hungry if only to have the chance to gather more. 

The front door bangs open for the first time in over one hundred hours and it makes Dave jump about 3 feet in the air from where he was sitting on the floor surrounded by his presents from the cat.

Out by the front door, Dave’s bro stairs in veiled disbelief at the mess his living room has become. He looks down and spots plenty of loose, bloody feathers littered about. Suddenly, the man’s jaw clenches.

“DAVE! Get out here, you fucking shit!”

In his room, Dave flinches and swears quietly. He grabs for his shades as he stands and trudges out into the hall as nonchalantly as a terrified kid can. His hands shake as he tries to push the stupid sunglasses onto his face and almost puts out an eye. Maybe if he had done so, he thinks later, he could have saved himself from a black eye.

“The fuck is all this bullshit on my fucking floor, Dave?” His brother questions, looking pointedly around the room. Dave stays as still as he can, biting the inside of his cheek. He can taste blood and thinks about the stains on the carpet left behind by not only the corpses but himself.

“You gonna pick this shit up or what, kid?” Dave twitches. He was expecting something else, not more words (although, his brother could be quite verbose, especially when he tells Dave what he thinks of him). He begins to stammer out something half-assed that he knows will get his ass beat when he’s interrupted.

"Shit, Dave. Mom ain't here to put it back the way it used to be. So one last time. Pick. Your shit. UP!" 

That did it and Dave scrambled his scrawny ass around the room in search of the tiny dismembered carcasses of birds strewn about the room. His bro, meanwhile, made his way to the futon. He had to brush a misplaced wing from one side before flopping down with a grunt.

-

It would be quiet until Dave’s bro woke up from his nap to find Lil’ Cal’s legs buried in a short mound of reptile and mouse parts. 

He decides to home-school Dave after that much to Dave’s chagrin.

-

"You touched my shit. Didn't you?" Dave fidgeted where he stood and avoided looking into his bro's shades.

"Answer me!" He bellowed. Dave flinched.

"Huh, Dave?" He said at a level lower than earsplitting. His fist came down with the force of an anvil in one of those cartoons they used to watch together on Saturday mornings. His bro was too busy being hungover and sleeping in to participate anymore and he usually prevented Dave from watching TV and waking him up. The force of it was almost welcome on his skull if only to serve as a reminder of times when his bro wasn't too busy or drunk or hungover to do anything anymore.

Dave's head was forced up again by the fingers twisting in his hair and his face twisted into an expression of pain against his will.

"You did." His bro was saying, almost too far away to be intelligible to Dave's ears.

"When are ya gonna fuckin' learn, huh?" He shook Dave's head around a few times, earning himself a few grunts of pain from Dave.

"Sink time, go." Finally, he let go. Dave scoffed and glared at his bro before making his way to the kitchen sink. He hates this shit. His bro always has to make this shit worse by gathering all the dirty ass dishes they leave laying around all over the apartment and sticking them in the water.

Dave grumbles under his breath as he plugs the sink and turns the knobs all the way open. No point in rinsing it out first; it's going to be a fucking disaster anyway. His bro doesn't even let him take his shirt off before coming up behind him and pressing him into the counter. The edge of the cheap plastic dug into Dave's stomach as he was pushed onto the tips of his toes but at least he was tall enough to not have to lay on the counter with all the dirty dishes and other bullshit paraphernalia his bro kept around the apartment. Seriously, that guy has a fucking problem with throwing shit away. 

As usual, the first dunking is without warning and on the way down, Dave inhales with his gasp of surprise. Thankfully, and also as usual, the first is also the fastest and he gets pulled up almost immediately after coughing and spluttering all over the place as his bro laughs at him. He's thankful for his foresight of using both hot and cold water as his bro shuts them off one by one. The first time his bro told him to fill up the kitchen sink, Dave had used only the cold thinking they were just going to soak the dishes (as rare as a clean-up is, it still has to happen sometime). Dave learned very quickly after that.

-

Dave hates his bro but he hates how long his bro always leaves him alone in their apartment without food even more. He hates being alone more than he likes to admit but that’s even more reason why he can’t tell his friends about his bro and what he does. He’s refused to group video chat on more than one occasion because of a punishment and had to leave a call without warning to avoid sending off alarm bells.

They might know anyway. John and Jade definitely suspect but don’t press the issue (aside from one time when Dave started yelling at them to lay off, effectively waking up his bro. Dave barely had enough time to turn his computer off via roughy yanking on the power cord before the first hit landed. He knows they know but they don’t talk about it). Rose idly questions every once in a while and it drives Dave up the wall.

There are times when he’s just so tired and he’s talking to his friends, during a small patch of quiet and the only sound is the rain on John’s window, the tropical birds cheeping into Jade’s mic, and the clack of Rose’s needles to balance out the static of all the equipment in Dave’s room that he quietly tells them one phrase, answering all questions with silence.

“It’s getting worse.”


	2. Hand Upon My Back Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape Warning

To hate someone until you burn is one of the ultimate agonies of the world. It takes a lot of energy to start the fires of intense hate but they're not usually started by oneself alone.

Dave absolutely hates his brother and undeniably craves his attention (though he would deny this vehemently and with enthusiasm that not many of his chosen activities have seen since he was eight). 

If asked, Dave will lie, deny, testify (basically he would rap but that hasn't been working out for him at all) against all accusations of any type or kind of emotion present pertaining to his fuckass piece of shit brother.

Motherfucker basically doesn't exist is what he tells himself. Anything just to get this out of his head. Why does it come back? It was a fucked up dream but usually he forgets those within the hour of waking. This has stayed behind like some kind of weird infection between your toes or a black spot on the ceiling of the shower.

-

The first one was a quick debacle that Dave convinced himself he had dreamt up.

Like when you wake up from a morning of hazy dreaming and wakefulness that all seems to blur together into some kind of span of your life that didn’t happen but did because time has passed and the impression of it is too strong on you for it to not have actually happened. Except it didn't.

Dave was never really good with time. He was always late to everything; class was attended late when he still went to school, his alarm was slept through almost daily, and if days smeared themselves all over the week any more than they were, he’d eat the shades he fixed himself from a pair he’d found thrown away. That shit is impossible. Fuck weekly structure (Dave’s pretty sure he did, and if his brother hadn’t taken him out of school, he would have gotten expelled for never attending anyway (He was late all the time! What was he supposed to do? Walk into class ten minutes till the last bell? That’s fucking stupid)).

Time passed but did it really happen?

How about no?

-

The second was harder to cover up with a film of sleep and maybe a tiny sniff of that awful shit his bro makes him pick up at three in the fuckass morning. If he’s out of it enough, Dave can even coax some piss beer from his brother’s cooler. Can’t even see it as a cooler, it looks like some kind of morbid muppet cryo-whatever chamber. Or something. Fuck if Dave knows. All those garishly colored stickers make him sicker than the actual alcohol. How high do you even have to be? Probably as high as his brother is in the next room.

That was Dave’s plan when he heard his brother’s slurred call from the kitchen. Get a can or two, don’t look at the muppetty ice tomb, get back to the call with John (but not too fast, he won’t stop going on about some stupid movie bullshit he went to the premier of with his school friends. Jesus dicks). Nevermind all his friends’ comments about him being touchy, twitchy, and stiff. It’s none of their business anyway (it was just a dream. Vivid, fucked up dreams are in season this year. ...And the last few years, too).

He put the call on hold, just in case, and went out into the tiny kitchen slash living room where his bro was sitting heavily on the edge of the futon, open can in hand. 

He looks at his 13 year old brother, a little too tall for his age, nose leaning a little more to the left than it was in his school pictures. The last of the bruises on his neck are fading finally and he figures Dave won't mind another time.

He didn’t seem to protest last time and it's been a tough week.

-

"You're startin' to look good, Dave. All on yer knees and shit. Damn," Dave's bro gripped his chin and tilted it up to inspect his face with a slight smirk. "Just open your mouth wide and," the man skimmed his fingers to Dave's cheeks and squeezed hard, forcing his jaw open. "Shit, look at you, Dave. Motherfuckin' precious." He snickered maliciously. 

You can't make a good lay out of a thirteen year old in a few hours. Shit like that requires extreme discipline and patience. The amount of times Dave's brother has had to stop and remind the stupid kid to watch his fucking teeth almost makes the entire thing not worth it at all. 

Almost. You know, if you don't mind vomit on your dick every other goddamn second (he really doesn't. That's actually pretty hot. The choking and the gasping is helping, too. The way his throat seizes around the head almost makes him come every time). 

-

He can feel it on his tongue and the back if his throat at almost every waking moment, scraping and forcing and _pushing_ and no matter how hard he clenches his teeth or glares at his reflection to verify the emptiness of his mouth, the feeling is there. It is there. It's there choking him and making him gag up nothing at all. Dave almost can never keep his mouth closed enough, going entire days without opening up for phantom dicks to violate him again (not that anything ever stopped his bro before but a boy can hope).

The taste seems to stay for days afterward every single time and the burning in his stomach doesn't stop till the shit is digested. Dave thinks it's easier to think of it as eating shit than what it actually is. Trying so hard to keep it down is another story.

All of it just makes his headache worse and he'd rather spit every time saliva pools too heavily in his mouth. Eating sometimes makes him nauseous with the memory of it.

Dave even can't watch porn anymore. It was just a passing curiosity, he tells himself. It's just kind of gross. It's just not doing it for me. I'm not feeling it right now.

-

Dave's almost fourteen when his brother figures he should teach the kid how this shit works. They don't talk about it and that's alright by Dave's brother. The kid's been behaving himself more recently anyway and he figures it has to do with their thing. Quote, unquote. Eheh.

-

Dave lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying desperately to stop any noise while his bro held his legs wrenched impossibly wide, spearing his smaller body through. 

His arms trembled with the force it took to not grip the sheets for his life and the first tear fell when his bro groaned deeply above him. The smell of his brother's breath stung at his eyes when he leaned in close. Dave would have flinched and sunk deeper into the mattress had he not been absolutely melded into it by the pushing, shoving force of his brother’s hips.

It felt like lifetime to eternity compressed into a span of probably five minutes since Dave's brother came into his room slurring some drunken bullshit about his duty to educating the young and forcing Dave down with a hand on his neck. The hand stayed and all of Dave's struggling froze when he felt the fabric of his sheets rub against his bare ass. Everything about him stilled and Dave forced himself not to make a sound while his brother went to work.

Eventually Dave was able to force himself out of his body enough to only feel the sick heat between his legs and the uncomfortable jerking of his brother.

-

Dave's only saving grace at this point is his high tolerance for hunger and the ability to stay in his room all the live long day. He can barely make his way to the bathroom in the mornings so he had to limit his trips to tinkle mountain drastically. 

He parks his ass on his computer chair and stays there as long as he can every day trying to pass the time and generally avoiding his brother until he gets called out for a run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I wasn't going to be happy with this but I was surprised!  
> Next chapter will be a pester chapter. i mean maybe. hopefully...  
> i don't know...


	3. Saw That Gap Again Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this one sucks.
> 
> oh well. Have your pesterlogs. Tiny little... pesterlogs...
> 
> Good news is that the first part of Prison Sex is done! Yay!

Every touch after midnight and semi-word in the pitch blackness begs him to stay where he is and Dave listens.

Why does he listen?

Why does it matter if he stays in a cesspit if he knows there's just more grime and sludge where he's going after that?

-

There have been a lot of checkpoints around, even on the lesser streets, and Dave's brother figures he should invest in a fake license for the kid. Can't having him going around doing errands and getting caught with some of the better shit out on the street. Those Mexican sonsabitches know their snow and it’d be a shame if his young sibling slash occasional lay got busted for possession.

Time to dig up some of his old contacts.

...And maybe get rid of some of his more lethal purchases from past years from the truck's glove space. Fuck knows he can't keep Dave if they find that in the piece of shit they drive around.

-

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 17:23 --

GG: hey dave!  
TG: hey  
GG: happy early birthday!  
GG: did you get my package?  
TG: yeah man  
TG: got it right here all snug and shit on my shelves  
TG: nice campfire with all my dead shit  
TG: good friends with all the floating carcasses  
TG: especially those cat fetuses  
TG: damn but those cats are wild  
GG: better get your special cool kid galoshes! these cats scratch! :D hahah!!  
TG: B| you know it son 

-

Maybe Dave just wants to make him suffer a little. Make him feel what he feels on a daily basis. Show him the life Dave knows instead of the one his brother carved out of life for himself only to have Dave dangling off the edge like a badly stuffed piñata (or well stuffed depending on what he's after). 

At a red light, Dave glances over to the handle of the glove compartment. Some asshole behind him honks and he jumps before facing forward and gunning the engine.

-

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG]  at 5:19 --

GT: you won't believe what i got you for your birthday, dude!  
TG: woah  
TG: curb the enthusiasm  
TG: some of us have to keep our heads intact man  
GT: yeah, sure. except for the part where you don't need your head since it's so full of air.  
TG: once again  
TG: woah man

-

Dave looks ahead in the street, palms sweating. Shit, there are fucking cones on the road. 

A fucking checkpoint. 

Fuck, he thinks, where's his fucking wallet?! The line of cars advances at a snail's pace and Dave snatches the new, round birthday shades courtesy of the blue eyed boy wonder in Washington off his face. As much as he likes them (and he'd never sanely admit that he really, really does), the fucking pigs will take his ass to the station if they think he's been smoking. Shades at night? Mad suspicious.

It was already bad enough he had to pick this nasty shit up so early tonight. The motherfucker he got it from was all suspicious before Dave told him he came for his brother's shit. Then he was all sleazy remarks and bedroom eyes till Dave got the packet of white powder and got the fuck out of there. Fuck that place.

Taking deep breaths, it's his turn. Dave pulls up the shitty, ashy-white pick-up a few feet in front of the officer motioning for him to stop. The other one walks up to his window and he pulls it down, flashing a winning smile despite wanting to wince at the brightness of the spotlights they have trained on that very spot. 

"Evening, officer," he brings up his wallet with the license his brother gave him a few weeks ago ("Just for such an occasion," Ugh. Dave hates how he always knows what to prepare for).

The cop scans the plastic card with his eyes, glances at Dave, and nods.

"Have a good one, Mr. Strider."

"Thanks. You, too."

He's glad he had the foresight to stuff the bag of drug under his seat but at the same time, it's like sitting on a fucking bomb.

-

\-- tentacleTherapist[TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]at 18:38 --

TT: I hope things have turned for the better.  
TG: yeah no  
TG: things are shit  
TG: good news though  
TG: i got my license  
TT: I was unaware of new traffic laws in Texas allowing minors to drive.  
TT: What an interesting piece of legislation.  
TG: can it lalonde

-

Dave stares at the wall and wonders when his brother will come in. He has an idea.

\- 

Ideas can motivate even the slackest and most dysthymic of individuals, even if they take years to come to fruition. Much like the apples that grow in his apartment's courtyard, Dave grew slowly and, to those not keeping a close eye, changed rapidly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to warn you all that the first chapter of the next part will have rape in it. Probably not too detailed but yeah. It'll be there.  
> ._.
> 
> Also, yes I know about those "Mexican sonsabitches." The generalization is that a lot of cocaine comes from a state in Mexico called Sinaloa. A lot of people from there live in my city and they go so far as to nickname it "Sinaloa, California"
> 
> I don't like them. They give us a bad name. I'm serious.

**Author's Note:**

> I can finally get this out of my head, oh my god. I really wanted to write this and now it's the only way to get it out.
> 
> It haunts me and now it will haunt you.


End file.
